Odd late night bar scene…

At this one late night bar in the Greek neighborhood way north of me, as I was coming home from hitting up a few new bars after a concert, I decided to stop in for a night cap, and the place was filled with an odd group of people: some who’d drifted in from downtown, others workers at local restaurants, others who lived in the area, others poorer (black) folks who’d drifted in from the poorer areas to the west and south of there, others more well off (black) folks who’d been around in the area having dinner, and, on top of that, a blues band that was playing Otis Redding and Carla Thomas’s “Tramp” as I was locking up my bike and heading through the door.

I was hungry, so I got not only a beer, but also a souvlaki and Cretan meatball sandwich, and so while I waited for the food to come out I drank my beer and watched the band.

After a while when the band had just gone on break, this old shriveled Mediterranean guy comes in, and he’s with this macho, good-looking, very straight (mid-30s) brownhaired bearded (white) guy, a very strange pairing, and I could only think that that the younger guy was a hustler.

The old shriveled Mediterranean guy bought drinks for the 2 of them in a very ostentatious way, and meanwhile the tense (Greek) owner who was crunching numbers at a notepad in the corner was looking at him and his eyes were just shooting daggers.

Then, the old shriveled Mediterranean guy walked over to that table, and they began arguing in Greek, to the point where people were looking.

Then, the old shriveled Mediterranean guy made his way back to the bar, where the young dude had chugged his whiskey, and the old guy bought him another.

The young dude chugged that and then the old shriveled Mediterranean guy wanted to go without even finishing his drink, but the young dude insisted on shots of Metaxa and flung some money down on the counter for that, like *he* was the one paying this time.

People were looking, and they both did the shots, and then the old shriveled Mediterranean guy pushed his half-finished whiskey to the young dude, who chugged it.

Then, they both left in a boisterous hurry.

“What the fuck was that?”, I asked the bartender.

“They work around here,” he was like.  “They’re going to the casino.”

“Oh,” I was like.  “I had pegged them for a prostitute and his client.  But, I guess a casino’s not good either.”

“No it’s not,” he was like, shaking his head.  “Especially when they're in a state like that.  You have no idea.”

After I absorbed it all, I texted my one professor friend who teaches modern Czech literature, and I was saying how I still didn’t understand the situation, and I still wasn’t clear if or how I had misread it –

One was old and buying drinks, the other was young and bro-touchy, both were fired up about something.

- to which she replied –

Sometimes your texts read like dreamscapes.

- which I thought was very true, since so many times, bars *are* like dreamscapes.  That’s part of why I love them.